


lion body, head of man

by thingswithwings



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-02
Updated: 2009-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's awake, but his eyes are closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lion body, head of man

**Author's Note:**

> A little while ago, [](http://toft-froggy.livejournal.com/profile)[**toft_froggy**](http://toft-froggy.livejournal.com/) and I released two straight-to-podfic stories; I wrote [lion body, head of man](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/828698.html), which she recorded, and she wrote [Melusine](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/828625.html), which I recorded.
> 
> Now we are releasing the text versions of those stories - as Hardison would say, we had something auditory for the auditory learners, and now we have something visual for the visual learners.
> 
> I took the title from Yeats, because I am obvious like that. I also took a phrase in the story from him. Written originally for the [Gods and Monsters](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/tag/gods+and+monsters+challenge) challenge on [](http://sga-flashfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**sga_flashfic**](http://sga-flashfic.livejournal.com/).

John's awake, but his eyes are closed. There's a veil of warm sunlight drifting in through the open window, falling on his bare back; the sheets are cool and soft against his waist, rubbing above the waistband of his boxers. He stretches, luxuriously – eyes still closed – shifting his arms and moving his slow thighs.

When, finally, he rolls onto his side, there comes a near-immediate brush of lips against his own. Not quite a kiss: a little off the mark, too far to one side, too soft, too sleepy.

"Morning," Rodney says, his stubble rasping against John's. John opens his eyes.

"Morning," he agrees, and smiles. "What do we have to do today?"

Rodney half-smiles back, almost sadly, and runs his hesitating fingertips against John's greying temple. "Nothing," he answers, eventually. "It's Sunday."

John kisses Rodney's throat, slowly, runs an appreciative hand over his torso, just to feel the solidity of him.

The warmth of the sun on his skin lulls his eyes into blinking, and then into closing again altogether. Maybe just another fifteen minutes, here on the clean white sheets with Rodney in his arms and the spring-smell of the ocean in the air. Another fifteen minutes, and then he'll get up and walk the dog.

-

 _Nothing but the shudder of his feet against the ground, nothing but the harsh sound of his breathing as he runs: it's half a klick back to the gate, and mostly through forest, good cover, but there's still that clearing around the gate itself. The natives probably have it guarded._

 _He doesn't know why they're firing at him; he just ducks the energy beams and runs and tries to get back to Atlantis. Back to Rodney. He thinks that Rodney's waiting for him there._

 _When he reaches the gate, finally, finally, his heart pounding hard and irregular against his ribs, there's no one there guarding it after all. He doesn't stop to wonder why, just throws himself forward, reaches for the DHD and starts to dial. Behind him the charges start to go off: boom, boom, boom, like his heart._

-

 _The villagers seem apprehensive when John proposes the trade agreement. They smile and speak politely, almost deferentially, but there's a note of tension in the air that John doesn't remember from the last time they were here. Years ago now, maybe; Teyla introduced them to Karvan, and Ronon got into slightly-drunken arm-wrestling matches with some of the locals, and he and Rodney ate the food and hung out with the old people around the campfire and John remembers how Rodney's fingers brushed against his in the dark, how Rodney's smile came easily that day._

 _This visit is different; he gets the ore that Rodney says they'll need to repair Atlantis, and he gives them stuff in return – medicine or gadgets or whatever – but he doesn't get invited to stay for dinner, and John can't find Karvan anywhere. The villagers follow him back to the gate, smiling the whole way, standing shoulder to shoulder as if to present a united front while they see him off._

 _John dials the gate for Atlantis, and goes home. Rodney will be glad when he sees how much ore they got in exchange for a box of random trinkets. It might be John's best trade negotiation ever._

-

John wakes up slowly, listening to the sound of Rodney breathing beside him. When he opens his eyes, he sees that Rodney's already awake, watching him.

Rodney leans in and kisses him on the forehead; then John speaks. "I dreamed about S9X-1Z5," he says.

"Karvan," Rodney says. "Those little pastries with the cream filling."

"Yeah," John agrees. "No – I mean, it was the same planet, but Karvan wasn't there. It was like it was a different time. I didn't recognize anyone."

"What else happened," Rodney mutters, his mouth against the pulse-point just below John's jaw. "In your dream."

"Nothing," John says. Rodney's hand is slipping beneath the sheets, into John's boxers. "I don't know." Rodney's hand pauses, just for a moment, on John's hip.

"That's alright," Rodney says eventually, and moves his hand again, down to brush his knuckles against John's cock.

"Don't we have to, uh – " It's light outside already. Usually they have to get up, do something.

"It's Sunday," Rodney says.

"Oh," John says, and smiles. He scootches a little closer to Rodney on the bed.

-

 _On R7A-2C9, he blows up a Wraith research facility; one of the ones that Todd set up, by the look of it. He gets trapped in one of the underground tunnels, so he doesn't get out before the C4 detonates. Neither do the research subjects._

-

 _On P3C-4A4, on a routine trade mission, something goes wrong. Everyone is friendly and helpful, and everything is going just fine, until a young woman breaks into the mayor's house, pulls out a gun, and shoots John in the gut with hot Genii lead. He doesn't die right away. As he lies on the floor, he sees the mayor shake her head, hears her tut-tut as if the shooter just spilled the salt._

 _"It doesn't do any good," the mayor says. "It doesn't do anyone any good." And the mayor bends down, and strokes John's hair._

 _Out of the corner of his eye, John sees the shooter sink down to the floor, back against the wall, dropping the gun and burying her face in her hands._

-

 _On a Wraith hive ship above M9A-1A8, John hooks the tablet computer into the Wraith systems and begins to transfer the virus that Rodney built for him. If Rodney's right, it'll knock out the five or six hives that are working together in this sector. The virus works more quickly than John anticipated, though; before he can get back to the jumper and escape, the hive ship loses control of its orbit and crashes into the planet below._

-

"Einstein!" John yells, as the dog buries his nose in someone's butt. "Sorry," he adds, addressing the woman with the bichon frise who's turned around in shock. John grabs Einstein's collar and pulls him back. She blinks at him and walks off.

Rodney laughs and offers the dog a treat.

"You really shouldn't encourage him," John says.

"I can do what I want," Rodney answers, smiling broadly and scratching Einstein's shaggy yellow head.

John shivers, even though it's a warm day in early fall. He sits down heavily on a park bench.

Rodney sits too. "You okay?" Rodney's fingers rub little circles between John's shoulderblades.

"Bad dreams," he admits, closing his eyes and leaning back.

"I know," Rodney says, and squeezes John's shoulder. "I know."

-

 _There's a shape moving through the woods, tall and broad, clothed to match the forest, blending in. John waits, watches, figures out where to crouch down low, which shadow to hide in so he'll be right in the path of –_

 _"Sheppard." Ronon's voice is the same, low and neutral. He looks different._

 _John doesn't say anything; he was waiting for this, but didn't plan what to say._

 _"You're a better tracker than you were," Ronon says, filling the quiet. "Stealthier too."_

 _"I've been practicing," John says. He feels ridiculous, suddenly, crouching halfway behind a bush while Ronon stands in the clearing. He stands up, steps into the sunshine._

 _"I heard." Ronon doesn't move. John knows that relaxed stance of Ronon's, the one where his hand falls naturally to his belt, near his gun. John remembers that stance. He remembers how Ronon smells, too._

 _"I knew it was you, here on this planet. I waited for you."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _There was a time when Ronon made him feel like a chatterbox, like there was pressure to fill the silence. Then, after that, there was a time when he and Ronon had a rhythm, would talk or not talk when they needed to, and if there was silence to fill, Rodney or Teyla was usually there to do it._

 _This doesn't feel like either of those times._

 _"You could come with me," John says. "It could be like before."_

 _"I don't think so," Ronon says. He looks like he's in pain. His stance wavers._

 _"I killed a lot of Wraith," John offers. Last ditch effort._

 _"Me too."_

 _John takes a step towards Ronon, and then another and another. Then he's looking down the barrel of Ronon's gun, just like when they first met._

 _"I can't, John." It's maybe the third time he's heard Ronon use his first name. He can't remember._

 _It turns out that Ronon is still the stealthy one after all; at least, John can't track him after he turns and leaves the clearing._

-

Rodney doesn't wake up, because he doesn't sleep, but he does shift into a more active state of awareness. The most recent intel on the Wraith indicates that there are still 32 active hives in the galaxy, and that at least seven more are being grown on various populated planets. He runs a simulation or six; comparing the current feeding rates of the established hives and the projected feeding rates of the new hives, he determines their next targets.

He sets additional simulations to run: best attack strategies (though there are only so many ways for a single man to take out a growing hive), estimated human casualties (he built himself to value human life, so runs these simulations carefully), whether John will survive the plan. This last isn't one of his operational priorities, but he finds himself lingering over it anyway, as mission files open in the background of his consciousness, unbidden. The time John was burned to death, the time he was hanged, the time he got shot. All the times he's been blown up, the puddlejumper crashes, the battles with Wraith darts. Rodney designed John's latest chip to simul-transmit his experiences back to Atlantis, so that Rodney doesn't lose valuable intel if John is lost during the operation, but sometimes. Sometimes he wishes he hadn't designed them to do that.

He uploads the latest missions into John's memory banks. John always thinks they're dreams; Rodney doesn't know how to fix it so that John doesn't think they're dreams.

He double-checks all the files; he performs his usual self-diagnostic; he picks tomorrow's mission.

Then he goes to wake John.

-

John wakes up, and Rodney kisses him, and it's Sunday, and they make slow, grateful love and they take the dog to the park and they get lunch at the little waterside bistro that Rodney likes. The weather's getting cold, but they sit outside at one of the sidewalk tables anyway, with Einstein lying on their feet, and they order hot fancy coffees and grilled sandwiches.

He and Rodney hold hands on the way home. With his right hand, Rodney hangs on to Einstein's leash, but mostly doesn't bother to correct the dog when he fails, spectacularly, to heel like John taught him.

"You always undo all the training I do with him," John complains, swinging Rodney's hand a little.

"It probably doesn't matter too much," Rodney says.

John figures that it probably doesn't, so he jerks on Rodney's hand till he's off-balance and kisses him there, standing on the street outside their house, warm together in the cool autumn afternoon.

-

On Bellaro, they call him the harbinger. On Dagan, they call him a word that doesn't quite mean angel. On Trell, they don't have a name for him; they don't need one.

-

Rodney tends the lab carefully, lovingly; he looks after John's body as best he can, just as he looks after his mind. Without this lab, without these rows upon rows of endless perfect Sheppards, he couldn't complete the mission.

-

 _Teyla is waiting for him on K2C-3N5. Or he thinks that she's waiting for him: when he walks into the village, she's sitting still, knees together, on a bench in the town square. For a moment, he has a memory of Rodney sitting in the same pose on a park bench somewhere else, but he shakes it off. She looks up when he enters the square, but doesn't look surprised to see him._

 _She looks old._

 _John says, "Teyla." Teyla half-smiles at him._

 _"It is good to see you, John," she says. He sits down beside her on the bench. It occurs to him that there are no other people around: all the other benches are empty, the doors to the houses shut. No one at the water pump, no one at the communal firepit._

 _"Where is everyone? Where's . . . " he can't remember any names._

 _Teyla's smile draws inward, becomes a grimace. "Hyla," she says. "You knew Hyla, here. In Brookdale, on Nell."_

 _Brookdale. All the primitive villages look alike to him these days. Places to get supplies, places to blow things up._

 _"Well, where is she?" His voice sounds annoyed, petulant. He doesn't remember Hyla._

 _"He doesn't live here anymore. Did you come to trade?"_

 _John nods._

 _"You can't. Not here, John. This is my home now."_

 _He reaches for her hand. She reaches out, too, wraps her fingers around his, squeezing hard. Her grip is as strong as it always was, her skin as rough._

 _"I don't understand," John says._

 _She looks up into his eyes, searchingly. His face feels hot; he suddenly wants to cry. "I know," she says, in that gentle way that she has. Her hand slips from his. "Go away, John. Don't come back here."_

 _Teyla stands, turns her back on him, and disappears into an alleyway._

 _The walk back to the gate is quiet, tranquil. The trees are in full spring flower. He dials the gate without incident; it's nice not to have the natives shooting at him, for once._

-

The Wraith didn't go away, but the Lanteans did. Left the city and went home. Some stayed in Pegasus, having died there; John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were among them.

-

John's eyelids finally flutter open; Rodney leans in and kisses the starburst of wrinkles next to his left eye.

"Rodney," John says, and he sounds breathless, as if he's just been running. "Rodney, I dreamed about Teyla."

Rodney rubs a warm palm against John's waist, and waits. Maybe Teyla was enough to make him remember.

"I dreamed – she was waiting for me. In a village somewhere."

"What else?" Rodney prompts, quietly.

"She – " John's eyebrows draw together. "I don't remember."

A long moment passes. "Just a dream, I guess," John adds, finally.

"I guess," Rodney says. Not this time after all. Maybe next time, or the time after that. Until then, Rodney can just focus on their mission.

"What do we have to do today?" John stretches luxuriously, flopping onto his back and pressing himself against the soft sheets as he draws his arms up above his head.

There are targets that they need to hit, jobs that need doing. Atlantis needs repairs so that it can sustain Rodney's program, sustain John's stasis pods. But all that can wait, Rodney reasons.

"Nothing," he answers, finally. "It's Sunday."

They rest.


End file.
